


I'll Be Good (For All Of The Times I Never Could)

by y00ti



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, F/M, Jack is also going to be there, Post Season 13, Rowena is more Michael than Eleanor, Rowena needs some instructions, Sam is Chidi, Sam needs help looking for Dean, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, because I love him to Friggin Bits, kind of like The Good Place AU, so uhhhhh how do you Good Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/y00ti/pseuds/y00ti
Summary: How do you teach a centuries old witch to be a decent person? First, you buy her a notebook so she can take notes. And then, you hope for the best.





	1. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.

Losing this battle is not an option for him. Rowena knows that just from the sound of his voice when he calls her.

 

She and Charlie are in some terribly lit and smelly pub in Virginia, Richmond, and destroying some dudebros in a poker game. It’s supposed to be fun, and it kind of is, the way they get all red in their faces and puffy, and she’s not even using her tricks on them, they just suck – but then her phone vibrates in her black, tiny handbag. She fishes it out, takes one look at the screen and excuses herself out.

 

“ _I need your help, Rowena,”_ he says, serious and rough, a little pleading but not in a pathetic, helpless way. Not at all.

 

“It’s still _you_ who owes _me,_ Samuel,” she sing-songs, tracing the edges of a dirty bathroom mirror with her long, red nail.

 

Some poor girl is puking her guts out in the stall. Rowena sighs, thinking of the itchy motel bed that’s waiting for her. She also thinks of the freedom and starry skies she and Charlie marvel at while on the road. She thinks of the prophecy. She thinks of Fergus.

 

“ _Lucifer is dead.”_

 

Back pressed to the wall, Rowena slowly slides down onto the floor. Now she’s just like the drunk girl, clasping her mouth shut to stop the ugly cry. It’s bubbling in her throat. Sam is silent for a while and she kind of hates the fact that it’s probably obvious why she isn’t saying anything either.

 

Life taught her well how to recover quickly, though. She swallows all of the emotions down and fixes her hair.

 

“-- Is he, now? Proper dead? Not, for example, just wounded and floating around somewhere?”

 

It’s a perfectly valid question. Death seems more like a common cold these days, people seem to recover from it pretty quickly, herself included.

 

“ _Proper dead. Dean stabbed him with the Archangel blade.”_ There’s this emptiness in Sam’s voice when he says his brother’s name.

 

“-- I have questions, Samuel. How did he escape the apocalypse world in the first place? And – doesn’t it have to be an _Archangel_ wielding the blade for it to work?”

 

So Sam tells her, not in great detail, but enough for her to get the picture. As soon as he mentions Michael and the deal, Rowena _knows_ why her help is needed.

 

“ _So, will you help me?_ _You and Charlie? I need_ _as much people on board as_ _I can get if we want to find him.”_ How can somebody, the witch thinks, sound so dead _and_ alive at the same time? “ _I will pay you back, somehow. I promise.”_

 

A quiet, girly laugh escapes her lips. If Sam only knew of her struggles. Of how she’s not even thinking about getting rewarded for helping, how she just _wants_ to do something decent and how bloody confusing it all is. How things break in her small hands everytime she tries to put them together. How annoying it is not to be able to name some of the new emotions she’s feeling, when she can list thousands of spells and hexes.

 

Rowena has no idea how to be a good person. She has been winging it for months now, and she is _tired._

 

“Alright, I will be on my way first thing in the morning,” she says and stands up a little shakily. Her voice is steel.

 

The sigh of relief Sam lets out makes her smirk.

 

“ _Thank you, Rowena. Really. It’s – it really means a lot.”_

 

She clears her throat. The drunk girl stopped puking a minute ago and now she stumbles out of the stall, mascara running down her cheeks. Rowena gives her a sympathetic smile. _Been there, done that, honey._

 

“As for Charlie, I will not speak for her. I really can’t be sure but... to be honest with you, I think she will be on her way.”

 

“ _That’s fine,”_ Sam mutters that one out quickly and she knows that he’s probably busy, probably has another ten calls like this one to make. “ _I’m glad you’ll be on the team, anyway.”_

 

Rowena blinks at her reflection and it blinks back at her, just as confused.

 

“Right. I’ll see you when I see you, Samuel. Toodle-oo.”

 

*

 

Just like she thought, Charlie isn’t going to go back with her. She spent too much time in hiding and locked up in different places. For Rowena their tiny journey is kind of like vacation. The best one she’s ever had, sure, but still temporary. Charlie is yet to take a deep breath of a truly free person.

 

They hug quickly but the other redhead suqeezes Rowena tight for a second, and she squeezes back. They don’t look at each other after that. Charlie promises she will search for Dean on her own, promises she will be in touch and Rowena knows she’s telling the truth.

 

The car they’ve been driving for this whole time, a rusty jeep with fluffy, cheetah print wheel covers, goes to her, after Charlie refuses to take the keys. Soon the witch is alone again, surrounded by silence, hands on the soft wheel and eyes on the empty parking lot. It’s dawn, nobody’s there, except from a couple of birds chasing each other. After looking at them for a minute or two, she takes her phone out and types a quick message.

 

_to: Samuel [05:14]_

_On my way._

 

It is so damn early she’s not really expecting a reply but at the same time she’s not surprised after one comes almost immediately. Well, it’s not really a mystery, why Sam would have trouble sleeping these days.

 

_from: Samuel [05:15]_

_great. i’ll start cleaning up now._

 

Rowena starts the car with a small smile turning up the corners of her lips.

 

_to: Samuel [05:15]_

_Better do. And I want a big, nice bedroom prepared._

 

The road is empty. Soft music is playing from the radio and she hums to herself. There’s a buzz, but she only checks it an hour later, after she stops for a coffee.

 

_from: Samuel [05:24]_

_will do. :)_

 

It feels as if the emoji is staring at her. Rowena locks her phone, downs the rest of the coffee and gets back on the road.

 

*

 

Sam is not sleeping well. He’s feeling quite alright for someone that’s running almost solely on coffee for days now, though. Sure, he broke a couple of mugs. And almost set the kitchen on fire while making pasta. Jack forced him to lay down in bed back then, but Sam just stared into the ceiling for the whole time, thinking of possible ways to move forward with their search.

 

Everyone is helpful as much as they can. Cas, after they managed to snap him out of his misery – and it was not an easy task, not at all -- is currently trying to reach heaven. Mary and Bobby are on the road; looking for clues this way is much easier for them, and they are much better at it than online research, for obvious reasons. Jody and the girls are also in constant touch, doing their best to find anything out.

 

Sam is holding up. For the first few days everyone watches him closely; he can feel it. The worried looks, their words soft and careful, and it kind of pisses him off. They all stop, eventually, after it’s certain that he’s not reserving any time for grief and guilt. It would be a waste of energy. So, he takes all of that, everything, that’s bringing him down, and locks it up. Don’t get him wrong, it’s very much _there._ It’s almost the same kind of misery Cas crawled out of. He just makes sure he doesn’t fall into it in the first place.

 

It’s midnight when Rowena arrives. Sam can hear the loud, growly engine from the bunker and the lights blind him when he walks out to greet her. The car earns a _stare._ It doesn’t escape Rowena; she looks even tinier next to it and _ridiculous,_ hair tied up, heels and a long, elegant skirt on.

 

“I won it in a poker game, you know. No tricks involved either, just pure gambling talent.” There’s so much actual pride in that statement, he chuckles.

 

“Why do I find it hard to believe you?”

 

Even though the way to the bunker is uneven and rocky, she walks in those heels as if they are sneakers. Sam smiles and realises he’s not sure how to greet her. She saves him; with a small hand, placed on his shoulder just for a brief second. That’s enough.

 

“Excuse my language but you look like absolute _shit,_ Samuel,” Rowena crosses her arms and quirks a brow. “When is the last time you got some decent sleep?”

 

“See, it would be much easier to answer you that, if you didn’t say _decent._ ”

She rolls her eyes and drops a travelling bag into his arms. Another chuckle escapes him; it’s a very _Rowena_ thing to do, making him the bellboy at his own place. The hunter invites her in, opens the door for her and soon the corridor echoes with the sound of the heels clicking.

 

“I will be making a... call it, _infusion,_ to help me get some nice, beauty rest tonight. Driving for a long time messes with my head a wee bit, so I work with what I can.”

 

There’s already stuff on the kitchen table: a small bag of purple flowers, glimmering vials, some green stuff that just looks like wild grass. Rowena puts the kettle on and starts chopping it up so fast, Sam knows he’d be short of a finger by then if it was him.

 

“Sure, make yourself at home. I mean, that’s the least I can do, you’re helping me – _us_ , again.”

 

He can’t see the witch’s expression. Her back is turned to him and she chops, chops some more, puts all of it into a bowl just when the water boils. When Rowena turns around, her expression is almost a little bored. If Sam was well rested, he’d notice that she’s not really looking at him.

 

“Help _yourself_ and drink this.” The bowl is full now, steam coming out of it, and it smells flower-y and nice. “It’s not very strong but strong _enough_ to even knock out a big fella like yourself.”

 

Sam blinks, eyes stuck on the potion.

 

“Ah, I don’t know,” he says, finally, running a hand through his hair. There’s an open laptop with a tracking program running on it and at least a dozen of other websites he’s monitoring. “I slept during the day so I’m pretty --”

 

“Liar,” she simply says and cocks her head. “You’re not going to find your brother if you’re a sleep deprived, useless mess. Even a smart boy like you needs rest to reach the highest levels of smart.”

 

She walks up to him, puts the bowl in his hands. Hers are pleasantly cold and persistent, tight around his, until she’s sure that his grip on the bowl is strong enough. Sam realises there’s no point in fighting her, no reasons to, really.

 

“Alright,” he mutters out and she smiles sweetly. “How much of it should I drink?”

 

“All of it, sweetheart. It’s a big boy portion.”

 

He’s _so_ used to her talking like that by now.

 

“What about you, though? You said you’re making that for yourself.”

 

“Ah, worry not, darling, there’s plenty more where it came from. I’ll make myself another portion after you head to bed. I need to shower first, anyway.” She huffs out a laugh and gathers all the ingredients back to the bag. “Don’t really want to fall asleep there, would be awkward in the morning for both of us.”

 

As soon as she stops talking, the bowl is empty. For the first few moments Sam doesn’t feel much and then it _hits_ him. Lazy warmth making his eyelids feel as heavy as rocks, muscles relaxing; he yawns immediately and turns towards the stairs.

 

“Jeez, I’ll be out in like – seconds. Thanks, Rowena. See you in the morning.” He turns to her again, on top of the stairs. “Oh, uh – your bedroom is the one next to the big bathroom, the one with that huge, silver lock.”

 

“Lovely. Goodnight, Samuel.”

 

She’s cleaning the kitchen counter now and, for a second, he is wondering why – it’s going to get all messed up again, after she makes the potion for herself. His head is pushing all the thoughts out now, though, and he barely recalls the last few steps he takes towards the bed. And for a very scary, terrible second all of the thoughts are gone, except from the dark ones. And for that second he’s so, so, so terrified that he can’t breathe. But this, too, fades eventually.

 

Sam sleeps a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

*

 

There’s a half-full wine glass on the table and Sam is confused.

 

“Are you – are you having wine for breakfast, Rowena?” he calls out.

 

“More like lunch, but – yes.” She walks out from the other side of the room, all dressed up, fresh and clearly not impressed. “And for breakfast too, now, that you mention it. It was either this or beer and beer I am not so fond of. You really need to do some proper shopping.”

 

“Ah – yeah, I guess.” The tips of his ears feel a bit warmer and he tries to remember the last time he went for groceries.

 

“Anyway, how did you sleep? The potion worked its miracles, I hope?”

 

It’s only then that he realises just how _clear_ his head is. The clock shows one in the afternoon, meaning that he got plus twelve hours of sleep. With his usual schedule, normally it would make him feel like a zombie for the rest of the day. It’s totally not the case now.

 

“Yeah. Thanks. I feel much better.” He rubs his neck and squints a little. “Great, actually. I, uh – so, how was being on the road? You look well.”

 

Rowena looks up at him the way she always does, with this playful glimmer in her eyes. She grabs the fabric of her loose, floral dress and sweeps it a little.

 

“Flatterer.” It’s half-hearted, though, he can tell. The mention of being away with Charlie makes the witch get lost in thoughts a little. “It was – ah, nice. You know, different. But all things come to an end, after all, and it felt like the right time.”

 

“Right.” Sam is not exactly sure what to say at this point. “I think I’ll go and get some food, then. Do you want anything in particular?”

 

“Already made a list for you. It’s by the door, on that tiny, funny shelf.”

 

“...Of course it is.”

 

*

 

In the evening, after they eat and Sam checks all of the tracking programs, they finally have some time to discuss the situation.

 

“Right, so – I’m sure that a big, angelic energy like his is hard to miss. Especially that Dean is his, as you beautifully put it, _sword.”_ Rowena is already looking through her books, the wine glass still next to her on the table, emptied and filled back in a few times already at this point.

 

“That’s – good, right?”, Sam says, hopeful. Even though his research proved itself to be just as efficient as magical a lot of times, it really isn’t the case now.

 

“Yes. But also – _no_. With energy this huge, he _has to_ know just how sparkly he is for my kind.” Rowena sighs and closes another book, then takes a sip of her wine. “He is not stupid. There is ways to block this energy from showing and he is using them, that’s for sure.”

 

“So – is there _any_ way you can track him if he’s in hiding?” Sam leans in, eyes big and full of determination.

 

Rowena’s face doesn’t even twitch when she looks at him but there’s something in her eyes that he can’t put a finger on. And he’s not even trying.

 

“-- _Of course_ there is, who do you think you are working with, Samuel, a witchling?” The roll of her eyes should be played with a book definition of an eye roll. “It is _not_ going to be easy peasy, though. It will take some time. And first, I’ll try a regular tracking spell, just to make sure. Maybe he is a dummy, after all.”

 

Sam nods and shifts in his chair. There’s something on his mind since they talked on that phone, something that’s a grim reminder of how those things work.

 

“And if you need something – and, uh, I don’t mean _food_ or the simple stuff... I mean, if there is anything you can think of as a form of repayment...”

 

The way her eyes twinkle at those words and her lips quirk makes him _extremely_ aware of how there’s _nobody_ else but them in the room. It’s so _easy_ to amuse her this way, it always catches him off guard.

 

“I was thinking, actually...” she purrs and averts her eyes, and he swallows hard “I need your help with something, too. You know, you scratch my back, I scratch yours kinda situation.”

 

“Alright, yeah, what is it?”

 

“Since that _talk_ we’ve had, about me redeeming myself and all that... Well, I’ve been having some troubles.” She clasps her hands together and gnaws on her lip, just as if she’s talking about, like, car issues or something as minor. “I don’t really know how to... uh, how do you say it...”

 

Sam blinks at her, unsure.

 

“How to... be a good person?”

 

“Exactly!” Rowena beams. “That’s it. I’m not exactly sure how that should work. See, the line in between _good_ and _bad_ has become, hmm... blurred, I’d say. For me. Through the last century, or so.”

 

“Ya, I get it,” Sam replies, still in confusion. “And you want me to... uh, what, like... give you lessons on that, or something?”

 

There’s a slight laugh to those words, he doesn’t actually _mean_ it but Rowena beams at him again. She perks up and nods, and downs her wine in one go.

 

“That’s just perfect, Samuel, yes. Lessons.” Not looking at the dazed man anymore, she rummages through her things. “I will – uh, I will need a notebook, though. And a nice, pretty pen, to take notes. Think you could get me that the next time you’re out?”

 

Sam just sits there, unmoving, still in awe at how quick the situation escalated.

 

“Sure,” he just says.

 

“Perfect!” Rowena stands up and grabs the book and the empty wine glass. “You do that and I will start preparing for the first tracking spell. I’ll see you in the morning – _professor.”_

 

With almost a schoolgirl-ish giggle, she pats his head and heads off to her bedroom.

 

Sam sits in the same spot for another minute or so. He considers calling her back, saying that it’s not going to work, that he’s anything but an expert, that they have to figure out something else, but then --

 

\-- he just chuckles to himself, shaking his head. How hard can it be, really?


	2. No need to feel sorry for a bad guy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowena learns a thing or two about herself. Sam has trouble picking a notebook. Jack has some good ideas. And there's an unexpected visitor with some unexpected news.

The first lesson – well, sort of – begins before Sam even manages to plan it out. When he wakes up the next morning, Rowena is nowhere to be seen. Most likely locked up in her bedroom, working on the tracking spell; but he doesn’t check, not wanting to disturb her.

So, he gets dressed and goes out to get some more groceries and other stuff. He’s feeling quite good again. It definitely has something to do with the warm mug of tea Rowena left for him at the bedside table. Not as strong as the infusion she gave him before, it still knocked him out pretty well.

It’s noon when he gets back – he’d be at the bunker much earlier but choosing the notebook and pen for the witch turns out to be quite a task. He just stares at the possible choices for ten minutes straight, his head totally empty. _Why the hell does it matter which one I pick?,_ he thinks, losing patience, and stares ten minutes more. At the end, he goes with a leather-y dark purple notebook and, you could say, a matching pen, that has some black engravings on it.

He walks in to find Rowena downstairs, hair a little messy, the curls looking more accidental than usual. She’s lost in thoughts so she flinches slightly as soon as he walks into her vision.

“ _Jesus,_ Samuel, warn a girl,” she mutters out, fixing her hair in a quite theatrical manner.

“Sorry,” he huffs out a laugh, a little amused by her reaction; she’s really a dramatic one. “You alright?”

“Yes, why?”

He can see the way her shoulders tense up at the question, whole posture immediately getting defensive. He knows the pose quite well – Sam, himself, does it everytime someone asks him about his well-being.

“Just asking.” Shrugging it off, the hunter puts the plastic bag down and rummages through it to find what he brought her. “So, did you manage to, uh – find anything out?”

She is staring at the wall now, biting on her nail absentmindedly. Sam starts getting a little worried but then she answers, snapping out of whatever it was.

“I did find something out, indeed. That, just as I thought, Michael is _not_ a dummy and he’s covered himself. Quite heavily.” Rowena sighs and straightens her back, and suddenly Sam _knows_ what’s the issue.

“ -- You weren’t expecting it to be so strong.”

She looks at him, actually _looks,_ for the first time since he entered the room. There’s something in her eyes, deep down.

“Well, usually trying to track somebody or some _thing_ that’s under magical protection feels like... walking into a wee spiderweb that just won’t let you through.” There’s a bitter smile on her lips, and the witch looks down. Her voice is lower and not bubbly at all. “Our archangel prince here felt like smashing into a concrete wall... in full speed. His energy reminded me of – _Lucifer’s,_ quite a lot, if I’m honest.”

Sam feels something drop in his stomach.

“ -- Lucifer’s dead, Rowena. He’s not coming back. Not this time.”

The redhead smiles, just barely.

“Ye, I know, so you’ve told me. How he lit up like a christmas tree after that blade struck him. Wish I was there to see that. I’d roast some marshmallows over his burning body, that’s for sure.”

Sam, yet again, can’t help a light chuckle escaping his lips.

“Right, I – I got you that, uh, notebook you asked me for.” Handing her the purple, leathery book, he low-key scans her face for a reaction. “And a pen, too.”

Rowena caresses the cover with her fingertips and twirls the pen in between her fingers.

“That will do. Thank you, Samuel.”

 _That will do?_ He can’t help but feel a little underwhelmed. It’s not something Sam’s perfectly aware of, either, it just stings him a little and he doesn’t dwell on it.

He doesn’t really know what his face is doing, but apparently it does _something,_ because Rowena looks up at him with her eyebrow quirked.

“I like it, if that’s what you want to hear,” she says, with a smile that’s slightly playful. “The color’s nice.”

Sam feels the tips of his ears warming up again.

“Good. Uh, I – I honestly don’t really know how to work with this whole _teaching_ idea but I’m... thinking.” Clearing his throat, he sits at the table. “In the meantime, is there anything you are going to need for the second spell that is not in the bunker?”

Rowena’s playfullness quickly fades and she nods.

“Ah, yes, quite a bunch, actually. I was just making a list.” She points at a piece of paper laying in front of her at the table. “I still need some graveyard dirt, which should not be an issue, poison ivy, a rat’s tail... an eyeball and virgin’s blood, and --”

“Okay, cool,” Sam nods, already thinking of ways to get those. “It shouldn’t be a – _wait, what.”_

Rowena blinks up at him.

“Graveyard dirt, poison ivy and --”

“No, no,” Sam shakes his head. “I mean, the last two.”

Rowena sighs.

“Don’t go soft on me now, Samuel. It’s not a problem for a strong lad like you to get somebody’s eyeball. You’ve fought worse battles.” She then eyes him up and down in a manner _way_ different than a while ago. “ -- Getting some virgin’s blood should _not_ be an issue, either.”

Sam rubs his temples.

“Alright, well – does it have to come from a human? Could we, for example, get a werewolf eyeball?”

Rowena sighs again, rubbing _her_ temples now.

“Unfortunately, no. It has to be a living person’s eyeball, taken from them while they’re still alive. Same for the virgin’s blood. It’s heavy magic, not _pretty_ , but the only kind that works against a strong protection like Michael’s. -- And if you’re not up for the task, I will gladly do it.”

It earns her a _look._ There were days in the past when Sam would not hesitate in the slightest, just go for it, grab the first person he could to save his brother. But not now, not after they both talked about this, about how they go _crazy_ when the other is not around. It’s _easy_ to go down this dark road again, to think that the ends justify the means, but he refuses to do it. Refuses to let himself get lost in this madness.

And letting somebody else do that _for him_ is just as bad.

“We will find a way to do it _without_ hurting innocent people.” He gives her a stern look and earns a stubborn scowl as a reply. “You wanted me to teach you how to be a good person. Make _this_ your first lesson.”

She leans in, all fierce, and it’s clear she’s not done arguing, but then someone else walks into the room.

“Um, hi,” Jack says, hovering in the doorway awkwardly.

“ _Oh,”_ Rowena breathes out and sits back down, eyes on the boy.

Sam knows this look. It’s the same look she had while she saw Lucifer for the first time. The same one she gave Chuck when they introduced him to her.

She saw Jack before, for a moment, sure -- but the room was full of other people and soon enough her and Charlie were gone and on the road. It’s the first time Rowena is able to take in his aura.

Jack smiles a little, not even slightly aware of that.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop -- but I heard your conversation. You need a human virgin blood, right?” There is so much determination on his features, Sam feels his throat tightening with emotions.

That is another reason he refuses to go dark side. He _can’t_ , not after everything they taught the nephilim.

“Yes, Jack,” he says, eyeing Rowena, _really_ wishing she’d stop looking at the boy this way.

“Would half-human blood be alright?” he asks, tilting his head a little, and Sam blinks. “I... Well, I _have_ my mother’s blood in me and, from what I understand this term means, _am_ a virgin. So...”

It’s a split second and if Sam wasn’t looking at that moment, he’d completely miss it. The witch’s expression _shifts_ so fast after these words, it catches him off guard. The silent _awe,_ the _power-hungry_ glint disappears and she covers her mouth with her small hand and _giggles._

“Oh, _honey,”_ she says and her shoulders are shaking from tamed laughter. “Yes, I do believe that will quite do. Even better so, considering you got some archangel blood flowing in ya, too.”

Jack beams at her and then his eyes go to Sam, and he has this “see, I did good” expression on him. Rowena, Sam thinks, physically _cannot_ stop being giggly. This whole situation, all three of them sitting here with smiles on their faces, actually making some progress, it makes Sam’s stomach twist in a way he doesn’t think about afterwards.

  


*

Rowena, with a wine glass in her hand, looks at all of the ingredients gathered on the table. There’s everything they need now, except from the eyeball. Jack’s blood is in a tiny bottle, next to a rat’s tail, and the energy that radiates out of it is _astounding._

She has to admit, the first few moments of looking at the nephilim made her feel like her _old self;_ there was no limits to Jack’s power, she couldn’t even imagine the things he could do. The things she could _use_ his powers for.

But then the boy opened his mouth and she saw an innocent, motherless child, a one with a _chance_ for a normal life. Well, as normal as it gets, when you’re raised by the Winchesters and their angel. She felt like crying at that moment, so she decided to laugh instead.

“Ah, it sucks,” she mutters to herself and sips on the wine.

“What sucks?” Sam asks and that’s the second bloody time he almost makes her jump out of her skin. He looks amused. “-- Hey, easy. You’re very distracted lately. That’s kind of... _not_ your usual style.”

Rowena fixes her hair again and squints at him.

“Yes,” she sneers. “Like _most_ of the things I’m deciding to do, lately. Starting to think that might not be the best of ideas, since we’re about to delay the spell for god knows how long, because of your... _morals_.”

She says the last word like it’s some sort of an ugly insect. Sam rolls his eyes and, after a second of obvious hesitation, sits down at the table, opposite her.

“What would you tell Jack, then? If we decided to just go with it, assault someone and take their eye?”

Rowena doesn’t have to think twice. It’s easy peasy.

“I would tell him it was a bad guy. No need to feel sorry for one.”

Sam clasps his hands together and leans in a little. It is slightly annoying, how she feels like a child at the moment, being talked to this way. It’s also _nothing_ she ever experienced, maybe with the small exception of when her and Billie – _Death –_ had a chat.

“What if that person wasn’t a _bad guy,_ though? What would you tell him, then?”

“I’d still tell him that,” she says, after a little thought. “He’s still only young, still pure, unlike the likes of _us,_ and doesn’t need to know everything.”

“What if he found out, though? How would you explain _that_ to him?”

Rowena looks at Sam and he just keeps looking at her, and it lasts for an agonizing moment, with both of them not even daring to blink. She remembers Jack’s smiling face and it twists in her head, and he’s staring at her now, with his eyes wide. There’s blood on her hands.

“I guess I can _sort of_ see your point,” she says, finally, and looks away. “But you can’t use the child as your _shield_ from doing things the faster way.”

“ -- And I’m not doing that. I just figured that would be the quickest way to make you understand.” She can hear a smile in his voice. “Me and Dean, we promised each other that we won’t, no matter what, turn into the monsters we hunt. Not ever again. I’m keeping that promise.”

“How sweet of you. I think I’ll cry,” Rowena says in a slightly mocking tone, but she can’t lie to herself. She sort of admires both the promise and the way it’s being kept.

“Laugh at me as much as you want,” Sam shrugs. “I am not hurting anyone innocent over this spell.”

Rowena studies him for a while, thoughts running. There’s something she’s been thinking about since their last conversation and, after what Sam just said, she feels ready to voice it.

“Take my eye, then.”

Sam laughs. And then he stops.

“ -- You’re actually serious,” he says, all quiet and breathless. “You know I won’t do that.”

“Oh, spare me, Samuel. Growing it back is baby magic for me. And we both know I am far from innocent.” The witch shrugs.

The more she thinks about the idea, the more sense it makes in her head, although she’s not sure _why._ Why would she _want_ to have her eye taken? In the past, she bit hands off of people that even came close to touching her against her will. It _is_ the fastest way they could actually make this spell happen, and she agreed to help. This _would_ be helping the good cause.

Sam just stares at her and she doesn’t like that, being studied.

“No, Rowena,” he says and, _oh,_ he’s angry.

 _Why_ is he angry? That’s not the reaction she was expecting. She straightens up her back, daring look in her eyes.

“And why _not?_ I went through pain much worse. Havin’ my eye taken out will feel like a wee kitten’s bite.”

Sam doesn’t need to think for long about an answer for that, apparently.

“If you want to feel better with the things you’ve done in the past, intentionally hurting yourself is _not_ the way to do it. It’s a toxic and a _fucked up_ way to deal with that.”

\-- He is standing up now, both of his hands on the table, and there’s _no joke_ with the way his eyes are piercing through her. “Believe me, I tried that. And it doesn’t help. You just end up hurting yourself even more.”

Rowena wants to say something, but she’s afraid her voice will break if she tries. Sam most likely notices that, because _of course_ he fucking does, and he sits back down. If he tries to grab her hand or something of the sort, she seriously thinks she’s going to bite it off. It’s _way_ too soon for her to try and think about what he said. And if that’s true or not, if these were actually her motives.

Sam sighs.

“-- We will figure the spell out. It is a heavy one, but it’s _not_ dark magic. Which means that there _is_ a way to do it right without hurting anyone.”

His voice is much softer now. Rowena hates it.

“There were times I didn’t give two bollocks about that,” she mutters out, finally, and the hunter has the freaking nerve to laugh at this.

“We are well past that,” he says and actually _does_ grab her hand.

He squeezes it for a second and pulls back, and she just stares at her own pale, now tingling fingers in silence.

“ -- Also, thanks for the sleeping tea. I appreciate it.”

Sam’s up now, heading towards the stairs. Rowena feels _tiny._

“Just have a habit of making too much of it for myself. It would be a waste to pour it down the drain, you know,” she says, half-heartedly trying to sound convincing.

“Right.” Sam lingers at the bottom of the stairs for a moment. “Sleep well.”

She’s about to say something, not really sure _what_ exactly, and maybe it’s for the best that as soon as she parts her lips, there’s a crashing sound in the middle of the room. Both her and Sam are immediately reaching for a weapon – he _always_ has a gun on him. In Rowena’s case, it’s a silver dagger that’s on the table next to the cauldron.

Turns out they don’t need them. It’s Castiel. There’s a cut on his cheek and he looks as serious as ever.

“We have a lead,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: macleodsbaby, please attack me there.


End file.
